Tag Archives: change

So here it is, Lisa-Jo Baker gives us a one-word prompt, we write on it for 5 minutes. No extreme editing, no rethinking, no backtracking. Then we go back and encourage someone that posted before us by reading and commenting on their post. Today’s word is: Change

Ready, set, write! (Yes, I actually do set myself a timer)

Change is inevitable. We can’t stop the change. Each second, each minute something about our universe has changed. And we can never go back to the way it was. But, oh, how we try. We cling to “what used to be” even when the final shreds of hope disintegrate in our hands into nothingness. We can try and fight it, or stubbornly sit on our rear-ends, but no matter how hard we try, things are never going to be the same again.

We CAN embrace the change in it’s inevitability. We can choose to go along for the journey and see where change takes us. We can choose the path of destiny and fulfillment. Hope lies not in the palm of tightly gripped hand, but in the freely thrown up palm reaching for the heavens in an accepting gesture. We can instead hold on to the steady rock that keeps us safe in the darkest nights, in the fiercest storms, in the lowest valleys. We can hold fast to the knowledge that change brings healing, hope, a future, a peace that we have never experienced before. Lessons are learned when we embrace change. Loss is part of life. Hope is part of heaven.

A life coach told me soon after meeting me that I was “visionary.” I just can’t help but see the “big picture” pretty much everywhere I look. I can see the good and the bad all at the same time. This can be frustrating if I see something (or someone) headed in the wrong direction. This can be useful if I am planning something. I can choose to use my personality trait for good, or for evil. In the words of Mr. Monk, “It’s a gift, and a curse.”

Personality traits are like that, a gift AND a curse. You and I were pretty much born the way we are, we didn’t have a say in the matter. We are like lumps of newly formed clay, ready to be shaped by family, time, and circumstances. Very occasionally that shaping forms a near-perfect human that can manage life well. But mostly, we turn out slightly misshapen, with an oddly placed handle here, or a slightly twisted rim there. Then we become adults. All of that molding and shaping that had been going on by the people in charge of us comes to a screeching halt, and, well, we are what we are.

Do you feel like this inside?

Then, we go through the fires that hardens the clay and solidifies the shape we were when we stepped into adulthood. Because life is like that. Trial by fire. Will we survive, or won’t we? Sure, we have to accept ourselves for who we are, and so should our loved ones. But, I truly think that this only goes so far. It’s hard to be around someone with an anger problem. It’s hard to keep throwing paddles and a boat out to someone who is stubbornly (yes, I say “stubbornly” because you and I can choose to be despondent, or not) stuck in a pond of despondency and despair.

We start to feel the the moments that the oddly placed handle gets in the way, causing all sorts of problems. We feel embarrassment when the slightly twisted rim keeps spilling the liquid inside at all the wrong times. Sometimes whole pieces fall off, or we are dashed to the tile floor and break. In many cases, people throw up their hands after several failures and say, “I’m never going to change!” We are what we are, right? Why bother trying? Well, yes, and no.

The truth is, we can’t change our genetic inheritance, but we do have a choice in how we use those traits: we can choose to stay the way we were shaped, or we can choose to, effectively, start over by smashing up the broken vessel and getting some fresh clay. You already have the ingredients you need: personality traits, learning experiences, belief systems, relationships, and etc. You can decide which ingredients you are going to use, and which you are going to throw out. You can decide how those personality traits will manifest in the real world. In other words, you decide who you are and how you behave. You get to choose the colors and the shape. That’s right. Shall I say it again?

YOU GET TO DECIDE.

Frankly, It really doesn’t matter what came before. All of those childhood experiences that brought to where you are don’t matter much. What matters is what you decide today. Do you struggle with fear (like me)? You can decide today to make a step toward freedom from that fear. Do you struggle with an addiction that rules your life? You can decide today to get yourself to the appropriate help according to your needs. It’s your choice. It’s up to you. You could change from the above to this:

*Author’s note: Before I get started here, I would just like to say, I love it when you come to visit. Yes, I mean you. I would love to sit down and have a chat with you. I would love to hear what you have to say on whatever I write about. So, if you come by, why not leave me your calling card, or a nice little note that let’s me know you were here? Frankly, it encourages me to keep doing what I’m doing. In other words comments are welcome and encouraged here. I generally leave a little question at the end as a prompt to get a discussion going. You can answer it, or not, as you prefer.

I had a powerful experience on Saturday that got my juices flowing and the wheels spinning for my little bloggity once again. The sucky experience that I am having is still sucky and I am still experiencing it. But, I feel the need to talk about something that I feel is very foundational to overcoming emotional difficulties: knowing yourself.

In “The Matrix” Neo goes to visit the Oracle to find out if he is “The One” (i.e. the savior of their world). She points to her little sign in her kitchen (which says Temet Nosce, by the way. This is just a variation of the phrase) above the doorway and explains to him rather bluntly that if you are something, you just know it. You don’t need to be convinced by your friends, you don’t need constant reassurance, you just know it. I know that I am a good mother. I know that I am an artist. I know that I am gifted in counseling others. I know that I am a Christian. I don’t need other’s to affirm this, I just know.

I truly feel that I am meant to do this blog, and to write books. But, one thing I have had a hard time convincing myself of is that I AMa writer. As in, “this is my identity.” As in, “Hi. I’m Stephanie. I’m a writer” (Not that I would actually introduce myself that way. But, I think you get my point). I feel a little surprised when people praise my work here on this blog. Sometimes, I almost don’t believe them. Silly, I know.

This is mostly because I find writing to be a difficult, sometimes agonizing, experience. I’m not goo-goo eyed over writing like some authors. It takes me twice as long as normal people to write anything of worth or significance. I find it excruciating to get started most of the time. I find it difficult to maintain my focus once I get going. I feel guilt for spending 2.5 hours writing 600 words. I have to manage my ADHD and other learning difficulties to finish my task. In other words, I just don’t LOVE writing like I love doing other things. I have asked myself more than once, “How can I BE a writer if I don’t LOVE it?”

This question has stopped me from moving forward in doing the things that I am meant to do. I just couldn’t see myself doing the things I am meant to do because I couldn’t (or perhaps wouldn’t?) believe in my identity as an writer.

But Saturday changed all of that. I met with about 4 other people. 2 of whom I have known a really long time, 1 I knew fairly well, and 1 I sort of knew a little. We met together to encourage each other. To help each other overcome the log jams stopping us from flowing in our gifts. I spoke for a while about where I was on a few things, including the I’m-supposed-to write-books-but-can’t-get-started-because-I-don’t-believe-I-am-an-author problem. The leader of our group (Rob Stoppard. A great guy, you should check him out) said to me people get stopped up in doing what they are meant to do because they believe lies about themselves. Lies like “I don’t love writing so how can I be a writer”, or “I am never going to change”, or “I can’t change”, or “I will always be (fill in the blank)“, or whatever you say about yourself.

The only way to combat this is to change your habit of lying to yourself, and start telling yourself the truth. I think if you look deep in your heart you can find your gifts, your talents, and your identity. It’s like a treasure box just waiting to be opened, and you hold the key to open that treasure box. And, if you open it you have to decide what you believe about what’s inside. You have to decide that the treasure is who you are, or not. But sometimes, even we do this, we get lost on our way back. Parts of the treasure get lost and never make it home. Like me and this writing thing.

The group had me do an exercise that has forever changed my life. They first asked me to look in the mirror and say out loud to myself, “I am a writer.” I felt more than a little shy about doing this. So, they offered themselves up to act as a sort of mirror. I had to look people in the eye and say out loud, “I am a writer.” They took it one step further and had me say, “I am a famous writer.” And although it was a little difficult to look people in the eye and say these truths out loud, I did just that several times. I stated a few other things I have had a hard time believing lately as well. As soon as I said these things, it’s like a spotlight was suddenly focused on my poor, lost treasures. I could find them, and bring them home. I could take them within my psyche and revel in the simple pleasure of knowing myself. It was like being born again.

And now, I feel free to do what I am mean to do. I believe that I am a writer. That even I can be a famous writer.

And you are free to discover things about yourself you never knew. You can go on a quest to find your treasure, to change your life into something better, to become who you are meant to be.

(This a complicated subject that has taken me an inordinate amount of time to write about. Please forgive any bumbling and incoherent ideas here. I’m a work in progress.)

I’m a bit riled up about something I keep hearing/seeing on the Internet:

“What other people think of you is none of your business.”

My response to this is, “Oh? Really?” I don’t know who said this (Frankly, I don’t care), but this seems to be in response to that thing that happens when we worry about what other people think of us. You know, that thing where you start making other people’s opinions more of a priority than your opinion. As I was researching this statement, I ran across a blog post where a person stated that worrying about another’s opinion is encroaching on someone else’s property. That’s an interesting notion, but I am not sure I completely agree. My problem with this kind of statement is that it general enough for people to take too far in the wrong direction.

Having an opinion is part of being human. You know, “I opinionate (I know, not really a word. Just go with it.), therefore I am.” Or, something like that.

Here are some facts about opinions:

Opinions are like the Force. There’s a light side, and a dark side.

There’s no such thing as a neutral opinion.

Opinions frequently smash together like atoms out of control.

Opinions can be either helpful, or non-helpful.

Helpful opinions can inform and uplift another person.

Non-helpful opinions can tear down and disenfranchise another person.

Everybody’s got a million of ’em.

Some of us (ahem) are more opinionated than others.

Some of us (again, ahem) share our opinions more frequently than others.

Need I say more?

The notion that other people’s opinion are none of my business because it’s their intellectual property seems like an overreaction to idea that another’s opinion shouldn’t define who you are. Yes, only should define who you are. Yes other’s opinions are just their opinions. People do use them to hurt, control, and destroy other people. Those opinions should be ignored, and are none of your business. But those opinions aren’t the ones I am talking about.

I find other people’s opinions of me helpful. Even the bad opinions. I tend to view other’s opinions as an object I can hold in my hand. I can look at, ponder it’s meaning, and put it down on the nearest horizontal surface. It matters to me what other people think of me. Here’s why: if I am doing something that is a problem in my interpersonal interactions, I need to know so I can work on it. I need to wonder what other people think of me, because there is always room to grow. This part of the human need for social order. We have to define our place, and our contribution to the society we live in. If we are not actively contributing, or worse causing disruption in, to the society we belong to, we are limiting our capacity to be fully part of that society. One has to be discerning and honest about themselves to consider another’s opinion of them. One needs to be willing to face their own weaknesses and downfalls. One has to be humble enough to admit to the need for change.

So, don’t swing too far in the wrong direction. Consider other’s opinions without taking them in and letting them run like schoolchildren with scissors waving frantically in the air. Make them behave themselves and reveal truth to you. Talk to those opinions and form your own conclusions. Make good, honest changes in yourself based on those truths. Let other’s opinions help to define how you react to the world.

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If you are visiting here, why not leave me a little note to say, “Hi!”? I’ll say, “Hi!” back!

I knew a fat cat once. She had a genial disposition. She’d let you pet her and would rub her fat little body all over your clothes. But, she could barely get around on her stubby little legs with that huge belly in the way.

Okay, maybe she didn’t have the beer and TV remote…

She was content to eat food, use her litter box, and pretty much sleep the rest of the time. In other words, she was lazy.

lazy |ˈlāzē|adjective ( lazier , laziest )

1 unwilling to work or use energy : I’m very lazy by nature | he was too lazy to cook.

characterized by lack of effort or activity : lazy summer days.

showing a lack of effort or care : lazy writing.

(of a river) slow-moving.

2 (of a livestock brand) placed on its side rather than upright : a logo with a lazy E.

When you look at Fluffy here, don’t you feel kind of sorry for her? Do you feel kind of sorry for her? Do you feel the urge to smack her owner senseless? Are you asking yourself, “How could she let herself get this far?” Do you feel the urge to take charge and put her on a diet? How about if you look at yourself? Do you have the same feelings?

If yes, keep reading.

If no, definitely keep reading.

When dealing with our own emotional difficulties, it is easy to become fat and content on the food of our own delusions. We can pretend that all is well. We can tell ourselves that changing is impossible. We can say to the world, “But I was born this way!” and get out our beer and watch some TV.

Because, avoiding the truth is easier.

Deep down inside, we know the truth. We know that the lazy, selfish manner in which we conduct our lives is not good for ourselves, or for the world we live in. We know that living in a place of anger isn’t good for our romantic relationship. We know that isolating ourselves isn’t good for us. We know that our addiction is probably killing us. We know that depression is keeping us from engaging in life.

Changing takes work. It takes discipline. It takes falling-down-in-dirt-and scraping-your-hands-and-knees-then-getting-back-up-again determination. It takes recognizing and being honest about our own failures. It takes will and perseverance. It takes training.

This is who I’d rather be. Wouldn’t you?

Don’t be like that fat cat, happy and content on the gluttony of your willingness to just eat and sleep and poop.

I was going to write something further about isolation, but that has fizzled out. Sorry for the sudden left turn, but I have to go where there is inspiration. I was preening my ego (hey, when you have an audience of 1, don’t tell me you don’t need an ego boost to keep on keeping on) by reading over my previous 7 posts.

As promised, I am going to beat you with my “Tough Love” bat for just a little while.

I went back to my first post and found the term “your little self-imposed prison.”

As in, “YOU chained YOURSELF to this wall.”

As in, “You have the key to get out of there you silly person, so use it.”

As in, “It’s time to move on.”

As in, “Enough is enough.”

As in, “Your only kidding yourself that this is a good idea.”

Let me explain.

Stuff happens. People hurt us. We hurt people. We learn from previous experiences to react in a certain way to a set of circumstances that have familiar features. For example, I have always had a tough time trusting men. I sometimes feel threatened by men who seem to be flirting with me, especially if they are significantly older men. I would give them dirty looks, I would feel the “fight or flight” hormones coursing through my veins, my stomach would hurt, my thoughts would swirl out of control, I would feel fear. I learned not to trust older men because my father sexually abused me. He could not be trusted in so many ways. I learned to fear him because he caused me significant pain. As a child, it is normal and natural to feel fear in these sorts of circumstances. God made our brains to cope with painful events in particularly helpful ways (i.e. dissociation). But what about when I became an adult? Was feeling fear actually helpful? Did I need to worry about being hurt EVERY single time? Every flirting, older man does not mean to harm me. Reacting with anger and fear every, single time this occurs is not helpful to me now. Being cautious is good, but I don’t need to overreact.

At some point, I had a choice. I could stay chained to this emotional response, if I wanted to. After all, I am an adult and have the right to choose (you did know that, right?). What are the ramifications to reacting with fear and anger in this situation? Well, let’s start with the physical:

Production of the feel good hormone “serotonin” is disrupted leading to depression.

The heart is strained and leads to heart disease

There is an increased risk for stroke

The immune system is suppressed and prone to causing an inflammatory response

Eating disorders can develop which leads to weight gain, anorexia, or bulimia

Diabetes can develop

Body aches can develop

Sleep can be disturbed

Normal sexual function is disrupted

Memory, concentration, and learning is affected

Alopecia, eczema, psoriasis, and other skin disorders can get worse

Substance abuse can develop

(Information taken from an article located at University of Maryland Medical Center’s website)

Relationally, men in my life would constantly feel challenged and uncomfortable around me. I would not develop any normal or healthy relationships with men. Emotionally, I would constantly pay the price for my poor choices. I would be in constant state of turmoil. I would always be uptight.

Out of an intense need for self-preservation, I could choose to live my life this way.

I could choose to be chained to my little prison of fear and anger.

Or, I could choose to take my key, unlock my fetters, and walk out of there.

I could choose change.

Change in how I approach relationships with the men in my life.

Work on being calmer around men in general.

Not give dirty looks to men.

Not overreact.

Not feel an adrenaline rush every single time.

How does one do this?

First you start by believing that you can change.

Decide that change is what you want.

Talk to yourself about this.

Talk to others.

Talk to God (if you believe in a helping God, like me).

Look for resources.

Work at it.

Don’t give up.

Understand the truth of the situation.

Use your critical thinking skills.

Remind yourself you wanted this change…

Believe me, unchaining yourself and moving on is the best thing for you!

This post
is dedicated to a precious person, Jessica who has a beautiful blog.
Reading her blog is a delight, like visiting a garden.
Dear Precious Friend, I came by your garden today for a visit. I
saw you in the distance with the wind playfully attempting to
displace the little straw hat (You know, the yellow one. With the
polka dots) sitting prettily upon your head. You seemed engrossed
in your work as you hummed gently to yourself. Knowing you, you
were probably composing a song. Then you saw me. You turned and
laughed, then waved at me to come on over for a spell. On my way
over, I noticed a little pond you had put in. There were flashes of
red, gold and white making ripples in the water as if to welcome me
here, to your garden. In another little nook I noticed that some
fairies had been busy building a little home for themselves,
knowing in their hearts that you wouldn’t mind. You looked warm and
a little tired from your work, but happy. There may have been a
little stick or two in your hair, it was hard to tell amongst that
deep brown hair. Little clods of dirt had stuck themselves to your
legs. Honestly, the dried mud didn’t look very comfortable, causing
your skin to wrinkle and pucker. However, you barely seemed to
noticed the dirt clods because you knew they would meet with their
ultimate demise; to be washed away. You squatted down by some
recently disturbed earth. I noticed a multitude of hardworking
earthworms busily making their way back into the soft, moist earth.
Those little guys are a definite sign of good soil. They are always
working to soften the hard ground, just below the surface where you
can’t see them. You asked me to come closer and take a look at what
you had been doing. You explained to me that this little plot of
land had almost been swept away by a flood recently. But, you had
managed to keep it safe. You said your gardening teacher had been
by and helped you protect this area from the swift, unforgiving
waters. You told me he had said that this was a special little
place, destined for greatness and beauty. “And see,” you said,
“I’ve already planted the seeds.” Having come to visit your garden
a few times recently, I feel I understand that making this place
special has not been easy. Blights seem to pop up out of nowhere
ravaging your precious plants. Or, crazy weather comes screaming
into this place bringing darkness and flooding that attempts to
desecrate and destroy the life here. By no small miracle, every
little petal, blade of grass, and leaf survives, and, in spite of
the storms, thrives. Whenever I come to visit, you take me on a
tour of delights. The sweet, soft scent of those perky red roses
reach up and tickle my nose, daring me to smile. The gentle sway of
the weeping willow by the water allows me, for a moment, to safely
feel some sadness, which is a balm to my soul. Sometimes the little
rabbits come out to peek at us and twitch their noses as if they
know something we do not. We stopped at your new pond. You showed
me the little fish that you put there. “My friends” you said, with a slight tilt to your head.
They come to visit when you arrive, even when you have nothing to
give. Sometimes you sing them a song, sad or otherwise. Sometimes
you tell them a story. They absorb every morsel you give them then
radiate back love to you for your gentle gifts. Eventually, we
arrive at the heart of your garden, that most sacred place. Here is
where you sit, hours upon hours, with your gardening teacher.
Listening, learning, asking tons of questions. Sometimes, I come in
to visit, sometimes I don’t. And, that’s ok. Because that is your
special place. On the way out, we always pass the little patch of
earth that you intentionally leave untended. It serves as a
reminder of what this garden used to look like. You have
worked so hard ,my friend, to put your land back together. And it is
amazing. Even more amazing than before the hurricane that nearly
wiped this place of rest and beauty from existence. Thank you,
Precious Friend, for allowing me to visit your garden from time to
time. Stephanie